


That's Two Stones with One Bird (Or a Flock, Actually)

by senttothebrink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Flamingos, Humor, M/M, babysitter!Sam, drunk!Castiel, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senttothebrink/pseuds/senttothebrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: Sam and drunk!Cas. </p><p>Castiel is drunk and grumpy over many things like spacial norms and flirting etiquette but he really, really, <em>really</em> wants to say how he feels about Sam now that he's got the courage. And tequila. But mainly courage. Unfortunately, Dean is going to give him a nudge in the most ass backwards way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Called Subtly (Castiel is Unfamiliar with the Term)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello all! Just wanted to say I hope you enjoy the story! It turned out a lot longer than I expected but I think it's at a good place. I also wanted to point out that this Castiel has lost some of his angel mojo, which explains why he's able to drink as much as he does but without the alcohol poisoning.

It's dark outside, cloudy too, no stars, just street lights filling the darkness with swathes of dim yellow. Castiel leans his head against the dingy window of some bar. They've been here, what? Five hours? Six? His suit coat is next to him along with his tie, his sleeves are rolled up, and he watches his breath catch on the glass in a plume of fog. He presses his head harder to the cold pane to stop the room from spinning. _And, good lord, does it spin._ Closing his eyes doesn't help him in the least. He isn't one to drink. Usually. But Dean, in his usual get up of jeans, layers of plaid and coat, brought him out anyway, got him liquored up _anyway_ , and is now trying to woo a pretty red headed waitress that keeps making eyes at him. 

_Making eyes, pft._ Castiel doesn't bother trying to understand why the phrase means what it does, only that when Sam tried explaining it, he couldn't quite get himself to focus on the substance of _what_ Sam was saying. He only noted how Sam spoke each word, how he formed sounds and letters, stringing them together in a gentle, hesitant tone. He's always so gentle with Castiel...

"God," he states quietly, "Should not- ...not have created temptation. If he didn't want us to fall..." 

Doesn't matter, no one's listening, in fact, Castiel's not even sure anyone knows he exists what with all cigarette smoke forming thick over head, the crappy lighting, the numerous, rowdy guests that bursts into cheers every so often from various booths and chairs. He likes the anonymity that the bar provides. The angel watches the waitress and the way bats her heavy eye lashes, twirls dyed red hair between her fingers, tilts her body toward Dean, and considers why Dean doesn't tell her off for invading his personal space. He always tells Castiel off and is always so- so rude about it.

He notes Dean's smile, the ease with which he deals with this woman's invasion, like this is something that's socially acceptable but, Castiel knows that it's only acceptable if you _want_ the person in your space. Castiel frowns, takes another shot then almost begrudgingly admits that perhaps spacial norms are important.

It's stupid. It's not like Castiel is going to harm anyone, much less Dean. He fucking dragged his ass out of purgatory. As far as Castiel was concerned invading one's space was very low on his list of things to care about. However, observing Dean and Waitress over his drinks reminds Castiel that he's not actually frustrated, not at the hunter (although Dean could always be a little less sarcastic), not at the lady who makes him think of Sam and definitely not how, whenever he and Sam stand together, if Sam started to twirl his hair, Castiel imagines it might look like the two of them.

He turns his shot glass upside down and unceremoniously drops his forehead on it with a loud thud.

"Y'u humans..."

"Hey, you all right there, Cas?"

He doesn't look at him. Sure, he's fine, Castiel is just peachy but it's suddenly a little too hot in here. Right now, and it could be the tequila, but right now he thinks he's ready to understand so he ignores Dean's question.

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

Castiel picks his head up slowly. Waitress is gone and Dean is settled adjacent to him one arm on the back of the booth, the other resting on the brown lacquered table. 

"How. Do you. Do it?"

"Uh. That depends," Dean's brow scrunches, "What'ya mean by 'do it'?"

"That thing that y'do where you lure w'men 'n despite th' fact that yer full'f it."

Full of it. Another term Sam had to explain.

 _Full of what?_ Castiel asked only for Sam to suddenly look so pleased as glanced down and shook his head,

_Shit..._

_Full of excrement?_

_No, no, I wasn't- Well, it does mean that but not actual...excrement,_ He sighed then. Castiel found himself entranced by the minute chest rise and desperately wanting to reach out, feel his way over the curve of it and up to the back of Sam's neck-

"Dean, why is it so hot in here?"

"Probably cause of the ten-..." he glances over them in surprise,"twenty shots you downed. How you're still even conscious is impressive, I have to admit-"

Those glasses, including the one Dean is about to down, are suddenly pushed to the side with one long sweep of Castiel's arm. Dean stares at his friend with a look somewhere between _what the hell_ and concern. Castiel is all business now despite the fact that his face is that of someone without control of their facial muscles,

"Jus' tell me. What is the secrets of yourflirtations? I need t'know," he taps his pointer finger authoritatively on the table top, "Yer goin'to tell me. Now. Ok?"

"Geez, what's got your trench coat in a twist?"

 _Your brother._ But Castiel doesn't say that. Instead, he leans back like he's done, like Dean should be able to tell already. When did talking become so tedious?

"I'm asking as a friend."

"And I'm telling you as a friend that you're creepin' me the hell out. Why do you wanna know so bad?"

"I want- would'like t'be more hum'n," he says a little more loudly than he wants, "Be'less...less..."

"Like a socially awkward jackass?" He gets nothing from the angel who looks about ready to smite him right where he sits. Dean isn't worried. Twenty shots of tequila have ruined whatever advantage Castiel might have had prior to their outing. The hunter scrubs a hand down his face, but eventually concedes. Why the fuck not? It isn't often that Castiel asks for something like this. And hell, this topic of conversation beats having to explain bathroom etiquette.

A smug, little smile pulls at the corner of his lip,

"All right, you wanna know, I'll tell you. You've gotta engage them. Say something witty and not creepy, something they have to respond to. Hell, noticing something small about them can get you places."

"Like where?"

"Depends on the situation and the girl you're trying to snag."

Castiel thinks for a moment. The next words that come out of his mouth sound right but feel warped in his mouth,

"What if," he tries, "what if she's smart. And funny. And likes healthy food?"

Dean raises a brow,

"Sounds like ya got someone in mind. Who's the lucky girl, Cas?"

"S..." Castiel shakes his head, straightens himself out, and exhales the name quickly, "S'mantha. Her name is Sam'ntha. She is definitely- definitely not a a man. And she's tall. How," Castiel slumps forward as if to whisper but ends up talking louder, "How do I flirt with this girl?"

Dean's excitement nose dives in .02 seconds. His eyes rove to the ceiling as if he were gathering his wits. _Ah, christ._

"Samantha, huh?"

This was not the guys night Dean was hoping for.

"She likes books."

At all.

"Is that so?"

In fact, he wanted avoid this event specifically even though it felt like this was a long time coming. Castiel nods and Dean has to consciously refrain from reaching over and smacking his friend upside the head. God, he does not want to do this-

"So, what, you thinkin' of gettin' her something?"

"Possibly. I think at th's'stage in our- ...our frien'ship it wouldn't be 'nt'rely 'nappropr'ate."

After all those times he caught a glimpse of Castiel's bedroom eyes directed, unashamedly he might add, toward Sam (or at least that's what he assumed they were; no one looks like _that_ without somethin' dirty on their mind), the late night researching he does with Sam, the constant way he tries to sound knowledgeable about human concepts whenever Sam's around, this really isn't a surprise. He does, however, want to get the ball rolling with this whole thing. If not now, it's gonna be awkward eye-fucking and having to pretend like he isn't aware that they constantly orbiting around each other.

"Feels like you're skippin' a few steps there, Cas. How long have you known her?"

It's painful to watch.

"A while." 

And Dean thinks that since Sam's hasn't anything to do for the past six hours, he may or may not just give Castiel a little nudge.

"Uh huh. And what are your...intentions? If you get her something?"

"Coitus, eventually-"

Dean's face deadpans. 

"But I am heavily," Castiel dips his head down, "heavily interested in being in a relationship-"

"Because you like her."

"Because I love her-"

"Ah, geez-" 

"You- You are...good at emotions, Dean, when did you become so good at emotions?"

"It's just the whiskey."

The angel nods, laughs silently to himself, then sort of hunches over the table like he's about to share a secret that only Dean and the empty glasses can ever know,

"So what do I do? What do I buy? She likes things-"

"She does, does she?"

"Too many things-"

"How's about an ice sculpture. Dedicated to her freakishly long legs," Dean knocks his drink back and winces at the burn. His friend is silent for a minute, staring off beyond their booth and looking like he might fall asleep when his eyes grow wide,

"She watches birds a lot. I think she likes them."

Of all the memories Dean has of Sam, he cannot remember a time when his younger brother spent time watching birds. The concept twists Dean's face in confusion but Castiel has, apparently, been watching Sam a little too closely, but whatever. This wouldn't be the first nerd thing for Sam to be invested in. Bird watching. _Huh._ Dean stores the information away for another time.

"And if I get her s'methin' with birds...that'll prove that- my affe'tions for her-"

"-are real?"

"Full."

"Of?"

"Not excrement," Castiel points to Dean, "They're real." Dean coughs into the crook of his arm to hide the fact that he's laughing and when he comes to, Castiel is musing over the many things he can procure, "Bird books," he tips over his glass with one finger, "A love bird, bird'shirts'she likes those-"

"Or a room. Full of birds."

The angel's face is suddenly intense and Dean has to keep his composure from breaking because- holy shit- Castiel is actually considering this as an option.

"If... I did. Do that. Wha'kind'f bird?"

"Something that looks ridiculous when it walks."

"And tall."

"Ostriches, emus, Big Bird, flamingos-"

Castiel's eyes light up, "A giraffe-"

"That's not a bird, Cas-"

"I could make one'a bird-"

"Or you could get an actual bird-"

"I understand what I need to do now. Thank you..."

"You can't just make another species of bird-"

"You-"

"Dean."

"Yes. Yes, that is your name, I didn't forget," Castiel asserts as he shuffles haphazardly out of the booth much to Dean's evident amusement, "I'm leaving. I will...see you. Later. Maybe. Don't come back t'the- that- motel room f'r a'while. I need t'...prepare." He burps, winces like it stings him, and stumbles off between tables and bar goers. 

Dean can do nothing but watch helplessly (pft) as he what he started falls from his hands, into his phone as a text, and then into Sam's hands. 

_come get cas_

_whatd you do?_

Dean pouts indignantly,

_what makes u think i did anything?_

No response.

_he had too much ok? and ive got something planned for tonight_

Dean can almost see Sam's bitchface a few blocks over. But he knows what Sam'll do, knows exactly what kind of fuss he'll make over having to leave his 'research' (the case is already solved, what the hell else does he need to look up?), and he knows that despite everything Sam's probably trying to calm his nerves right now because, as Sam says, _"It's Cas."_

_how bad is he?_

Dean looks to his left and through the doors he makes out the plant leg of one Castiel sitting on the bench outside the bar.

_ur in for a real treat tonight_

 


	2. It Takes Two to Tango- Flamenco. Flamingo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The taller man is left alone with Castiel. And a room full of exotic birds. He scrubs a hand down his face in an attempt to clear away the scene. It doesn't work, naturally. Large birds mill about the room, kind of peacefully, which is strange because they were just bird-napped by a drunk angel.

In the motel room, Sam is little more than uneasy as he flips his phone shut and reaches for his denim jacket. Why did Dean even let him drink that much? Castiel isn't always aware of things like 'limits', especially not-

_Whatever, it's done._

The air outside his door smells of rain and is filled by streams of exhaust from cars passing by. Light reflects in long sheets over soaked walkways. Half watery moons collect in the puddles Sam tries to dodge. Cigarette smoke trails a group of bar goers clearly inebriated. Only a few other people are around, huddled together while waiting for something- whatever that is, Sam doesn't think on it too much.

He only wants to focus on getting to the bar without ruining the bottoms of his pants; not the part that comes after because he'll be with Castiel alone. His mind races to catalog anything and everything, pushes down the incessant jitters fighting through his nervous system. He can _be_ alone with his friend, he can, he really, honestly can. They've gotten along so well in the past few weeks but these... _feelings_ (Sam calls them that; doesn't want to, but needs to make sense of his thoughts), well they've been there for quite some time. Maybe that's why he's now actively avoiding tripping over himself and trying without much success to clear inanimate objects.

There aren't many cars driving by as he crosses the street where the bar stands. It's a dark place on the outside but the inside is filled with orange and neon blue behind the counter with empty glasses strewn all along its surface. Inside is full of laughter, loud and obnoxious, when two girls open the door to enter. They share a giggle over the man on an aluminum bench with his legs splayed out. He looks wrecked. Sam can smell the tequila even from three feet away. The side of Castiel's face is illuminated by neon yellow and green signs flashing intermittently in the window behind him. His hair is in disarray, half of his buttons are undone, and he looks kind of...

Well, it doesn't matter what Sam thinks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and jerks his head to the side,

"Uh, Cas?"

The angel's chest rises slightly and his greeting is said in an exhale,

"Sam." And the way his name is said in relief gives Sam an unexpected shiver. Castiel opens his eyes, unfocused and half squinted, "When did you..." he looks around, "this isn't the motel."

He glances over Castiel, elbows coming to rest on his knees and head in his hands.

"Ah, nope. Not the motel."

"I was... under the impr'ssion that I was...walking."

"C'mon. Let's get you to bed."

Sam slings an arm under Castiel's, takes most of his weight in the end, and they tread carefully back through the parking lot. It shouldn't take ten minutes to leave twenty feet of space but it does and Sam is doing all he can to not carry his friend. The more they walk though, the more the angel stumbles into Sam, away from Sam, backward, diagonally, his legs seem to just fall out from under him-

"Geez, you're all over the place."

"Why is it so," Castiel pauses, truly concerned, "dark?"

"It's...It's night time, Cas. The sun is gone-"

"Is that so? Wasn't when I came here," he mutters and pulls away from Sam's grip. The hunter is about to say something when Castiel's arms are suddenly around his waist and his head is pressed into his chest.

"This is'much bett'r..."

Sam has his hands up for a moment, stunned, trying to explain with his eyes to people passing that his friend is just drunk, they're not actually together like their raised eyebrows infer. Eventually though, he ends up holding Castiel close (what the hell else is he supposed to do? Walk back with his hands up the entire time? Forget it). He tells himself it's just to keep the angel from losing his balance. It's nothing more than a friend helping a friend. However, Sam cannot tell himself that the thudding in his ears isn't at partially because of the way Castiel feels under his arms. 

At the motel door, Sam fumbles to get the key out of his jacket.

"Here, lemme'help-"

And suddenly there's a hand in his pants pocket groping around rather boldly. Sam nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact,

"Cas!"

"No keys..."

"Those aren't keys-!"

"Are they 'n this one?"

Another hand goes in the back pocket and- Sam's eyes are wide as fingers form to cup one cheek and he frantically tries to remove Castiel's wandering hands. They wind up with Castiel pressed against the door, Sam situated close to the angel. The hunter's chest heaves slightly from trying to get a drunk, giggling Castiel to 1. not feel him up and 2. listen to him for more than five seconds.

"Listen, you can't just- you can't reach into people's pockets like that."

"But your keys-"

"They were in my jacket."

In one of the hands holding Castiel's, Sam uncurls his fingers to let the silver key dangle against Castiel's reddened palm. The angel looks over at it and seems wholly entranced by the sight. His lips twitch into a partial smile and Sam keeps noticing more and more about Castiel; ocean eyes streaked through by lighter blue, soft brown, bed head hair, perpetual thought lines etched into his forehead, the edges of his profile curved by the soft yellow light above their door. Castiel's lids slip closed.

"Cas?"

"Sam..."

His name is torn between a sigh and _wanting_ and Sam feels a rush of heat prickling under his skin. 

"Are you feeling ok? Do you have to-?"

The angel's head falls forward gently onto Sam's chest, one ear pressed against it. He breathes out. Sam feels the warmth spreading and receding through the opening of his jacket. Castiel hums,

"Your heart is...beating."

"Yeah. Hearts will do that, Cas-"

"I's beating fast."

Sam clears his throat, lowers their hands so they're hanging between them, Castiel holding tight and Sam almost losing mind, but he doesn't say anything. Castiel is drunk. This night'll be filed in the back of Sam's mind like all of the other awkward moments he wishes he could have saved. But that's his life. He snakes an arm around Castiel's waist to keep him upright now that the angel is laughing to himself and losing his balance again and murmuring about Sam's scent: predominantly soap "mixed with books" (whatever the hell that means). Once they're inside, Castiel opens one eye then the other to adjust to the brighter motel room. He suddenly jerks away from Sam and keeps him at arms length,

"I had to do's'mething-"

"What?"

"I forgot the thing- wings and beaks- there was a giraffe-"

"What? Listen, you're kind of smashed right now-"

"I'll have you kno'I am perfec'ly not sm'shed- I am'intact, I have," Castiel motions to his body, "All the limbs-"

"Yes, yes you do, and I'm glad you can even still see your limbs just don't go anywhere, ok?" Sam plants his hands firmly on Castiel's shoulders and ducks his head a little closer, "You forgot your coat and tie but don't worry, Dean can bring it here-" 

He's taken aback at the sudden sympathy in Castiel's eyes that seems to say, _I find your attempts to console a millennia old angel over the absence of two articles of clothing adorable._ Castiel pats Sam's chest placatingly.

"It's not with'im at the bark- bar. Wait one moment."

He blips out of the room in a flutter of wings leaving Sam a little colder than before and the hunter is worried, who the hell wouldn't be? A drunk as all hell angle just up and disappears, plus he's already running low on angel mojo- _Probably can't even fly straight-_ His mind veers off into the possible scenarios that all end horribly for anyone who finds Castiel. Sam moves before his mind consciously decides to go after him. Castiel couldn't have gotten too far, right? 

_Shit._ The hunter is a few feet from the red motel door when he realizes that his phone is still inside so he reels around to shove back through only the it's stuck. It hardly budges under his weight. He waits a moment, goes at the door again with his shoulder, and _the door fucking squawks._ He stumbles back, eyes wide in bewilderment. 

"What the hell-?"

"Hey Sammy, what's-"

Sam whirls around to find Dean behind him with a red head hooked to his arm. She's fair, wild tresses held back by a band, dressed in a polo shirt and black skirt, and she's taken a cautious half step behind his brother. Hanging from Dean's hand is the tie and coat Castiel isn't worried about.

"What's going on, Dean?"

"Well, uh, as you can see, I just got here, why would I-?"

"No, I mean, what's wrong with Cas? He just disappeared. I forgot my phone inside, the door won't open-"

"Yeesh, sounds like your night went south. Luckily, mine has just started," Dean steps around Sam, gets his hand on the knob, 

"I just told you it's stuck-"

And it opens easily. Sam's face contorts the tiniest bit with incredulity in response to Dean's asshole smirk. 

"Yeah, real stuck. Looks like I'm not the only one who's been drinkin'-"

Sam would have responded with something witty but he strides into the room and is immediately at a loss for words, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. His brain cannot process what he's stepped into exactly: flamingos. Everywhere. A flock of large, pink bodied, curvy necked birds looking just as lost and confused as Sam does. _What. The. Fuck?_

"Oh my god," the waitress gasps, "Where did you guys get these birds? And why are they in your motel? Is that even legal?"

But neither Winchester can answer: Sam is struck dumb and Dean is doubled over with laughter choking out words like, _you look just like 'em, man! Pink shirt and all!_

In the middle of a sea of pink stands Castiel eyeing the bird closest to him like he doesn't trust that one specifically. Sam clenches his jaw, eyes turn accusing on his brother (he knows, he just fucking knows Dean has something to do with this), but he can't make his mouth work properly to get a confession out of him. The older hunter tosses Castiel's stuff onto the nearest chair and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand,

"This is great, better than I pictured," he clasps Sam's shoulder, "You kids have fun, all right? Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Why are there flamingos in the room, Dean? Did you put him up to this?" And why? What the fuck is the point of all this? To drive Sam insane?

"Hey, watch it, ass wipe, you could have had it a lot worse. Just be glad they're not giraffe bird hybrids, all right?"

" _What?_ "

"Seriously, is this legal?" The woman asks but Dean is already out the door with reassurances that they're 'trained professional circus freaks'.

Sam is left alone with Castiel again. And a room full of flamingos. He scrubs a hand down his face in an attempt to clear away the scene. It doesn't work, naturally. Large birds mill about the room, kind of peacefully, which is strange because they were just bird-napped by a drunk angel. Castiel looks up from his staring context and motions to the whole flock as if to show them off.

"Cas. I have _no_ idea what's going on right now. You have to meet me half way here."

"You don't like them?"

"What...Ok, let's start with: _why_ did you bring flamingos here?"

"Dean, he... he implied that you would like them. They're full of it. Love, that is. Not ex'rement." Castiel uses the bird nearest as a crutch and the big, horribly perplexed creatures lets him, "You look su'prised."

Sam tries but words fail him. He can't even make his face move out of its bewildered state. Instead of trying to deal with the fact that this is literally the weirdest thing that's ever happened to Sam on a Friday night, he approaches Castiel through the pink swarm. Yellow eyes sunk into white feathers follow him as he goes by, but otherwise the birds do nothing while he moves among them.

"You... you wooshed off to get flamingos because you thought I'd like them?"

Castiel glances down looking defeated,

"It... seems you're 'nter'sted in other birds."

As he sways away from his flamingo, and geez, there's something Sam never thought he'd see, the hunter lunges forward. Castiel stops himself right when Sam gets a tentative hand on his forearm,

"Cas. How much did you drink?"

"I...I lost count after..."

"What? Four? Seven?"

"Twenty."

"Ah. Huh. This whole night makes a lot more sense."

Castiel shakes his head but the motion makes him dizzy to the point where he starts falling again yet never hits the ground. An arm slides around his waist, brings him in, and Castiel feels like he's yanked forward. The motion is messy and dizzying but the most concerning part is that Castiel recognizes just how weak he is staring up into Sam's worried hazel eyes,

"You need to work the alcohol out of your system, Cas."

"I wasn'...t. Was not. Thinking." His head lolls forward gently. Castiel nuzzles Sam's shirt, soft and cool from the rain. It feels nice on his face.

"Cas?"

"Was'I right? Are you... 'nt'rested 'n other birds, Sam?"

"The flamingos are fine-"

Castiel leans his head back to regard Sam with all the scrutiny he can muster. At least that's how it seems. Sam isn't sure what to do when Castiel licks his lips, gaze trailing from Sam's face, his chest, his mouth, then back to his face in one slow, obvious movement. He's hyper aware of just how tight he's holding on to Castiel's lower back, keeping him close. It's wrong, he knows but-

"That is not," Castiel ropes one arm around Sam's neck, "what I meant."

Then there are gentle lips on his. The moment is quiet, slow, each sensation a frame that lasts hours and feels like fire spreading through Sam's chest. Wisps of hard liquor seep into his mouth, filling him with clouds of alcohol he breathes in willingly, and his eyes shut at the moment Castiel pulls away with a slight dissatisfied noise,

"I b'lieve I... jumped to... to the wrong concl'sion. I apologize-"

Suddenly everything is tequila, tequila, so much fucking tequila, and _Castiel_ , that is all Sam tastes on his tongue the minute he decides to crush the other man close. There's a hand- two hands- tugging at his hair, running cool fingers against his scalp, and he shivers. Castiel quirks his mouth into a smirk; Sam can feel the action against his lips where the angel nips tenderly,

"If God didn't want...me to be...led into temptation," he exhales warm onto Sam's throat, "he would not have made you."

Sam huffs out a breath, smiles, because Castiel is cute and a little corny, and _Jesus_ , when did Castiel learn how to do that with his mouth?

"When'd you learn how to flirt, Cas?"

"...That was flirting?"

"If it wasn't, that was pretty damn close."

Castiel looks slightly incredulous as directs with his eyes to the flamingo's around them,

"The... the birds. They were the flirtation."

"Ah," Sam nods, "Where did you get them, by the way?"

"I am... 95% sure they wer'from Brazil."

Even though Sam is still confused, probably not more than his feathered friends, he finally has a second to let it all sink in. It's seriously ridiculous when he thinks about it. Yes, Castiel likes him; Yes, his feelings are being returned; Yes, Dean definitely had a hand in this; Yes, Castiel definitely _kidnapped a flock of gangly, terrified flamingos for the sake of flirting_. His laughter builds because the more he thinks about the whole situation from the flamingos perspective, the funnier it gets. He literally cannot help the fact that he's got his face buried into the angel's shoulder.

"Did I do s'methin' wrong?"

"No- God, no- You just- Never mind, Cas." When his laughter subsides, he bites his lip, eyes clouded over with a hesitancy he didn't want to think about before. Castiel raises a brow as Sam averts his gaze to their hands tangled together between them. He strokes his thumb over Castiel's knuckles for a minute or two, savoring the feel, the thrill that this is something he might get to do almost every day.

"Just for the record," he lets his voice drop, "You're the-... the only bird I'm interested in, Cas." The angel smiles, small, barley there, but it's kind and makes Sam aware that his heart might just burst from his body. Of course, they become rapidly aware that they're not alone seeing as how a pack of restless birds have started bumping into them all dazed and confused and one is staring directly at Sam with a look that suggests there might be a battle over territory.

"I s'ppose we should put them back."

"We could. Or..."

"Or?"

"Well, I mean... Dean's probably not too busy right now."

"His 'ntentions were very clear, Sam. He'll be partic'pating in-...Oh. _Oh_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had such a blast writing this that eventually I'm going to post a third mini chapter with some of the *ahem* after effects. It'll be short, sweet, to the point, and mainly from Dean's perspective. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Payback is a...Flamingo. Right.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strangest things in life are often the most unexpected. With a job like Dean's, one becomes accustomed to spontaneity. He does not, however, welcome it in his personal affairs when he's half naked in someone else's bed.

At first, Dean thinks the cool something sliding up his outer thigh is an unreasonably patch of cold sheet exposed to the air for too long. He shifts around, one arm curling under a pillow he winds up pulling closer. In his head he's going over the possible hour. The last time he looked at Lacey's alarm clock, now a victim of their late night activities as it lay popped open on the floor, he sees a 3, a 2, and a 4 that constantly switch order. _3:42? 2:43? Mmph..._ With eyes closed, he tries to remake the layout of the room, mapping out the possibilities of where his clothes are so he can just get up and collect them when he takes his Post-Cock Walk.

 _OK, we came in, had some fun by the couch then we... went to the kitchen? No, that didn't happen until after the bathroom..._ His face scrunches. The images churning through his mind flicker dimly, struggling to overcome the fog of sleep and post-drunk head ache. Last night happened to be very... mobile, that much Dean remembers. Clothes were thrown off in the throes of passion, places were bit that Dean now felt the bruising of, but he can't recall every detail. He knew his socks were either on the T.V. or on that floofy, floral lamp in the corner of her room. His pants were...somewhere. Under the bed, maybe?

He exhales at the prospect of having to rummage around. Silent escapes were more his style; once and done, clean break, that was the deal. No messy goodbyes, just up and out. Dean cracks one eye open then. Lacey's still next to him with an arm thrown over her face and hair spilling like tangled, red weeds up the purple sheets. She looks like she's heavily invested in sleeping, might be for a while. _Good._ He's about to slip out of bed when the cold feeling is back on his thigh and the sheets are moving on their own. His first instinct is to kick whatever it is that's touching but as he raises himself by his elbows and twists to the left through blurry vision he makes out a wad of a pink body with it's head disappeared under the sheets. The flamingo suddenly pecks him hard on the back of his knee. He jerks away from the bird and crowds toward Lacey as it raises its head with an indignant ruffle of feathers. 

"Mmm, Dean that tickles..."

He whips his head to the right. There's another flamingo nipping at Lacey's side-

_You've gotta be fucking kidding me._

"Ah, yeah, sorry, I uh-" he reaches over and pushes the bird's head away, "Didn't. Mean to. Just- go back to sleep." 

She rolls toward him with a smile stretched on her lips. He turns himself over onto his back and surveys the damage so far: two flamingos, relatively dazed, both wandering around the room. It could be worse. _Shit._ How the hell can he get them out of here without her noticing? Shove them out the window? _That'll draw too much attention._ Out the door? _And then what? Leave 'em in the hall?_ Dean's heart nearly stops when ten more appear near the opposite wall. Pink, feathered bird bodies spread about the place, slapping their webbed feet on the wooden floor not too quietly. They pick up clothing, flop it around, knock posters off the wall, attempt to eat a few pens-

_Sam's dead. Cas and him are dead- I am going to beat the living shit out of them-_

One more flamingo materializes at the foot of the bed. It's bigger than the rest, almost a hot pink, and that should make it less intimidating but it doesn't. Dean eyes the bird as it cranes it's neck up and over slightly. The flamingo expands its wings, tilts its head back, and fluffs up all while doing this weird as hell back and forth dance. The others turn in his direction mimicking their leader.

_Ah, fuck..._

 

It's ten o'clock when Dean kicks the door open to his motel room with a bruised jaw plus a few light red scratches going down his arm. He completely expects Sam to be sitting there with a smug look on his face but the taller man is at the small kitchenette preparing a cup of coffee with his back to this brother,

"Where is he?"

"Gonna have to be more specific, Dean," Sam turns around, mug to his mouth, the muscles around his eyes crinkled like he wants to laugh. And he almost does when Dean throws his pecked-to-shit shirt on the nearest chair. "Rough morning?"

"Don't act all innocent. Do you have any idea what I just went through? I was accused of underground flamingo smuggling- Who in their right fucking mind smuggles flamingos?!"

"I take it Carmen was upset?"

"Carmen?"

"...The waitress you hooked up with. That was the name on her uniform," when Dean doesn't respond Sam's eyebrows shoot up, "You forgot her name?"

"Well- I... No-"

"Dude-"

"I was drunk, ok?!" By now, Dean is in the kitchenette slamming through cabinets to find something to drink out of. Sam makes room for him watching as he angrily takes a cup and starts gesturing with it, "We were both drinking- Don't turn this around on me! You and your boyfriend intentionally sabotaged the Post-Cock Walk-"

"Yeah, after you let Cas get drunk and put it into his head to steal a flock of exotic birds-"

"Ok, first off, I didn't tell him to steal it- Cas came up with that on his own- second, I was trying to-" Dean pauses, horrified at the fact that he almost admitted to setting his _baby brother_ up with his best friend. The idea twists Dean's face into a scowl, "You know what? Doesn't matter- and I didn't let him get drunk. He's a big boy, Sam, he can make his own decisions- And you-" he points, "You're going down."

"Good luck."

"Just because you've got an angel on your team doesn't mean it's gonna be easier to get the drop on me-" Dean almost jumps out of his skin mid turn into what he thought was empty space that happens to be occupied by Castiel. He spills coffee down the front of his undershirt, "Goddamn it, Cas!"

"Hello, Dean."

"Don't 'hello Dean' me- You're on my shit list too- The both of you-" he grumbles as he flings the soiled shirt off. Castiel's gaze is suddenly intense on him for a good few moments that concerns both Winchesters,

"Uh. Cas?" Sam asks, "What's wrong?

"His jaw. It's bruised."

"Yeah- Fell on-," Dean clears his throat,"-on Carmen's door handle-"

Castiel tilts his head and crosses his arms which, Dean notes, he does in almost the exact same way that Sam is doing now. Isn't it supposed to take a couple months before couples synchronize this kind of douchebaggery?

"She hit you."

"That's-" Dean glances between the two of them: Castiel with face scrunched in curiosity and Sam with a grin stretching from ear to ear, "What'd I say about reading minds?!"

"Why'd she hit you?" Sam asks then almost instantly his face lights up, "You didn't-"

"Shut up."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you. You called her the wrong name?"

"We were being chased by blood thirsty flamingos which she thought I magically brought over somehow-"

It's no use explaining. Sam's cracked, broad shoulders heaving with barely contained laughter. Dean gathers pants and a t-shirt, a towel, and heads off for the bathroom past his spastic brother and vaguely, but evidently, smug angel.

"You two are gonna regret this. I'm the king of pranks, I'm the- the Alpha prankster-" his voice is muffled behind the bathroom door. 

All through Dean's ranting, which Castiel mostly ignores, the angel glances over at Sam with an almost-there smile which the hunter returns. It's warm, dimpled, full of affection, and suddenly Sam is looking down at the hand entwined with his. The movement is new to him, Castiel never had need to reach before, but finds that he wants to. It makes Sam softer around the eyes and he's able to feel the hunter's quickened pulse through their skin touching. If engaging in these human ticks elicits those responses, Castiel is more than ready to learn what being human is all about. 

"You shouldn't start what you can't finish, Sam-" they hear clothes hit the floor and the curtain draw back, "And for the record- Shit!"

The sound of wings flapping and horrifically loud squawking is the last thing that reaches them on their way out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with the story! I was so amused through out this whole thing. *hangs head* I swear though, I am an adult.


End file.
